A Twenty-Year Dark Night
by spacefemme
Summary: Richie provides part of the entertainment for Ben and Bev's New Year's party. He wrote his own shit this time.
1. Chapter 1

It's New Year's Eve 2017.

For all the success that most of the Losers have garnered in the last ten or so years, now that they remember everything they feel pretty out of place at an L.A. party. Maybe that's why Ben and Bev decided to host a fairly small one with only people they actually know. The Losers make up maybe a fifth of the guests, but between all of them they've already drank three-fifths of the alcohol.

The exceptions are Bev, Richie, and Eddie. Bev because she has to stay at least mildly sober in case someone working the party runs into an issue that requires her attention. Richie because he's going to perform a ten-minute set for everybody else pretty soon. Eddie doesn't know the reason. People just keep preventing him from drinking even though he's one of the guests staying overnight and can generally handle his intake. Ben, Bill, and Mike are pretty smashed, though, so maybe it's better for them to have a few more people to keep them from wandering off a balcony.

Eddie sees Honorary Loser Patricia Uris looking amused by it all and wonders if they remind her of someone, if she understands someone a little better now. He goes to stand next to her and observe the drunk half of them stumble through a secret handshake none of them have done in decades.

"They've more or less reverted to their thirteen-year-old selves," he says.

"Was Stan that much trouble growing up?" For as sad as she's been, the smile on her face looks unmistakably genuine.

"He was usually the one who had to corral us."

"Which one was the worst?"

"Richie, without a doubt. And that's not me being mean, he'd tell you that himself."

"I would," says Richie, seeming to have spontaneously materialized behind them with his regular shit-eating grin. "I was and am the worst of the Losers' Club. But y'all like me anyway, so I guess that's not saying much."

"Well considering where we grew up," says Eddie. "There were a good amount of people who'd have been a lot shittier to have around."

"I knew you kept me around for a reason," says Richie, then turns to Patricia. "Oh wait, I misspoke - all of them like me except for Eduardo here. He can't stand me, that's why we're dating."

Eddie is about to tell him how flagrantly wrong he is, but the smirk he gives Eddie tells him he already knows. Patricia laughs, and Bev approaches to tell them they're getting ready for Richie's set.

"Alright," says Richie with a nod. "Wish me luck." He kisses Eddie on the cheek.

"I think I'm supposed to say 'break a leg,'" says Eddie.

"It's not the performing part I'm worried about."

Before Eddie can ask what that means, Richie's gone, so he just shakes his head and helps Bev and Audra wrangle the guys to their table.

* * *

Bev walks onto the platform that's serving as Richie's stage to introduce him, but she fails to notice her husband has followed her up until he taps her on the shoulder and whispers something in her ear. She laughs and hands him the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Ben announces in a booming, Don Pardo-esque voice. "Put your hands together for our esteemed guest, Richieeeeee 'Trashmouth' Tozier!"

Richie comes onstage as the other guests applaud - Bill and Mike making a point to start whooping - and gives Ben a sort of half-hug before having to prop him up when he starts falling forward. Bev links her arm in Ben's and helps him back to the table, right up front. She takes her phone out to film, and Eddie can't help but notice an awfully excited smile on her face. Richie waves at the audience and starts.

"Well, it's 2017. For another two hours or so, anyway. It's funny, a lot of people I came out to this year kept saying that. They were like, 'Ah, it's not a big deal, it's 2017!'" He mimicks the well-meaning but dismissive wave of an arm. "Yep. It sure is." He raises his eyebrows and nods. "As far as trying to prove that people aren't as jackass-y anymore, stating the year means nothing. Imagine if it was the 50s and your coworker said the n-word and you just said, 'Ah, come on! It's 4:30! On a Tuesday! In March!' Basically what I'm saying is time is a fake construct and means nothing. Happy New Year." Nobody's exactly cackling, but he's getting a pretty good response. He gestures to Eddie, who's resting his head in his palm and half-smiling.

"My boyfriend is sitting up here, he's already mortified."

Eddie lifts his head up and sputters as the other Losers cheer.

"I think he's worried I'll bomb so hard up here that I set the gay rights movement back fifty years." He leans down and picks up a bottle of champagne from their table as he raises his voice.

"That's right, _we're doin' Stonewall again_!" He raises the bottle as if he's about to smash it, but stops. "This is full, I'm not gonna…" He sets it back on the table. "This table here is all people I know very well." He points to Mike. "Mike here walked in on me and my boyfriend making out once, so that's how I came out to him."

Mike slumps down in his seat and tilts his head back, his palms covering his face.

"The thing about these guys knowing me as well as they do is some of the jokes I'm gonna tell they've already heard in casual conversation, on account of I don't know when to stop. So just FYI, if you guys are inclined to say, 'Hey, we already know that one,' my preemptive response is 'I know, shut up, let me finish.'" He looks down at them as if to get some kind of confirmation that they'll refrain, then looks forward again. "Which is also what I said to Mike when he walked in on me and Eddie."

Bill and Ben burst out laughing, and Bev's eyes go wide. Audra drops her jaw, turning first toward her husband then back at the stage, and Patricia seems to be trying to stifle her own laughter.

Richie points at Audra.

"Audra's looking between me and Bill like, '_What did I marry into?_ '"

She laughs, her face reddening.

"My friends down here, I've known them since middle school. We lost touch for awhile, reconnected about a year or so ago, so yeah, they did not know I was gay for a good thirty years. Except maybe Bev. She probably knew. She just gives off this air of knowing all your deepest, darkest secrets but like, she's cool about it. Which a lot of people in the 80s were not . I remember one particular asshole back then kinda figured it out and got in my face like -" He crouches down and widens his eyes, hissing, "'Hey, you wanna play truth or dare? Oh wait, you wouldn't want anyone to pick truth, 'cause then they would know you're _ga-ay_."

He can pass it off as being Henry Bowers or some other school bully, but the others know from this particular brand of intimidation.

"And in the moment it made me nervous, 'cause obviously I was still in the closet, but I look back on it, and I should've just said 'Hey dipshit, _that's not how truth or dare works_.' The kid sitting across from you doesn't pick truth, then point at you and be like 'You. You totally like dick, right?'" He points at a random guest at another table and squints at him suspiciously.

"You could also lie. Your friend doesn't make you swear on a religious text when you get to their fuckin' twelfth birthday party."

Ben calls out, "Fuckin'... Mrs. K would."

"Ben," Richie says, trying to look disappointed but having difficulty hiding his smile. "I swear to God. We've learned recently that Ben is an honest drunk, which is why he is nnnnnn-ot allowed to speak for the remainder of this set. But I'm also not allowed to be mad at him since this is his house. "

Ben mimes zipping his lips and flicking away an imaginary key.

"And of course, the rest of us are honest because we all had to swear on a Dianetics Handbook when we got here."

Ben quickly breaks his vow of silence and guffaws.

"Our whole group, growing up we were called 'The Losers Club.' Which, if you knew us back then maybe you would be against because it's bullying, but you'd also be like, 'Yeah, I can see it.' But we just sorta rolled with it. It became our thing, we were like The Beatles. I was John Lennon."

A few of the Losers roll their eyes.

"That's not me being conceited, that's me admitting that the rest of the band would be rightfully embarrassed to have me speak for them."

It gets one of the bigger laughs so far, where the audience as a whole is concerned.

"I've heard John used to make fun of the band's manager for being gay, he called him a 'queer fag Jew,' which - maybe they had a kind of shit-talking friendship, but of course in general that's an awful thing to say. But then I remember how I interacted with all my friends growing up, especially the one I'm now dating, and I start to think." He raises a finger emphatically and pauses before saying matter-of-factly, "Maybe John Lennon wasn't a homophobe or an anti-semite. Maybe he was just in love with his manager and fully unequipped to handle it."

People laugh, but mostly they look surprised to hear this stuff.

"So he shows up to their little Beatle reunions cracking jokes, like - I'm not gonna do an accent, just pretend I sound like John Lennon. _Imagine_, if you will. He's like 'Hey, remember that gay manager we had? God, was he gay or what?'" He switches to the other side to imitate presumably all three of the other Beatles. "'...Yeah, John, we remember.'" He switches back.

"'Hey Jude, more like _Gay Jew_, right guys?'" He switches one more time. "'We know, John.'"

"My boyfriend and I, it's the same deal as the rest of our friends. We didn't talk for years, then we met up again and that's when we got together. I mean, not immediately, since we were both still very much in the closet." He starts to imitate Eddie with an overly flamboyant lisp. "He was like, 'Shut up, I'm not gay, I love my mom - _fuck_, I mean wife! _Wife_! I _love_ women and having sex with women!' ...That's not at all how he talks, but I can make those jokes now without repercussions."

Eddie furrows his brows at him.

"Okay, that's not true either, he's gonna have my ass for that one. And not in the fun way."

"_Ooh_," Bev says under her breath.

"Our dynamic still hasn't changed much. He'll come home and ask how my day was, I'll say 'Good, your mom and I got in a quick feeling-up session before rehearsal.'" He says it as casually as he can muster, and Eddie blinks hard and sighs.

"And he'll say, 'Oh that's great, yeah, _your_ mom actually stopped by the office and we sixty-nined on my desk.'"

Mike almost has to spit out his water, which Eddie and Bev have been making the others drink steadily throughout the night.

"Our friends see us interacting in any capacity and they're like, _'How has he not killed you yet?'_ And I'm like, _'I don't know! I've tried everything!'_ It's like he loves me or something, gross!" He scrunches up his face as Eddie jokingly makes a kissy-face at him.

"Now, I know what you're thinking," says Richie, turning up his palm. "Is this whole thing gonna be about me being gay? And the answer is there's like, two minutes left in the routine, so most of it, probably."

Eddie is reminded of a conversation they had a few weeks ago.

* * *

_"You know whenever I propose, I'm gonna make it a point to completely humiliate you."_

_"I wouldn't expect any different."_

_"Like, I'm gonna be onstage with two minutes left in my dumbass routine and I'm gonna call you out in front of the whole audience. It's gonna go so viral."_

_"Thanks for the heads-up."_

* * *

Eddie hears some kind of movement, and turns to see Bill and Mike shaking up a champagne bottle each, looking very excited. They hold them tight with both hands, ready for some kind of signal. Richie shoots them a look.

"Are we gonna go write our names in the snow? Alright, first order of business, find some snow. We're movin' this operation to Antarctica - wait no, that's where The Thing lives. Okay, Wisconsin, let's go!" He stands for a second as if he's about to run off, then takes a deep breath and tenses up a bit.

"It's funny," he says. "Ben had the biggest fucking crush on Bev when we were kids. I don't know if she was his first crush, but it was a serious one."

Ben leans forward and rests his chin on Bev's shoulder, giving her a stupid drunk smile. She caresses the side of his face with her free hand, still recording Richie.

"It was like that for me. Eddie was my first crush, the first I can remember at least. You know, you're thirteen, you're trying to figure that shit out, and it's fucking _hard_. Doesn't matter if you're gay or not, that shit's hard." He's talking in the third person, but he's looking right at Eddie and not breaking.

"And after I moved away from home, it didn't feel like it was getting easier. There were a good twenty years that I didn't picture anyone when I heard people talk about love. About being in love. Even if I was seeing someone, it was just some random abstract idea." He sits down on the edge of the platform. "And when I finally figured it out, I came to the same conclusion I did back then."

People are endeared by his fucking cheesy-ass speech, and Eddie's pissed at himself for tearing up right now.

Richie looks out at the audience. "It still took a little bit, since he was married to a woman at the time."

They laugh, and Eddie realizes it's been a good few minutes since he's heard that.

"For like, ten years, if you can believe it. Total disaster. Like, are you sure about this?" Richie gestures vaguely with his index finger, then looks back at Eddie with an increasingly excited smile. "You wanna try that again?"

Eddie shakes his head, but it's in a _Tozier you fucking idiot_ kind of way, not an actual "no."

Richie addresses the audience one more time. "This is about to be the longest I've gone without making a joke," he says, and sets down the microphone, then takes a small box out of his pocket and hops off the platform.

People are gasping and cheering, but Eddie's not noticing them as much anymore, because Richie is kneeling in front of him and giving another dumbass speech about how he loves him, he always has, how he makes him want to tell everyone exactly who he is, yes it's still scary, but he makes it feel easier. How even if he has to brush his teeth before kissing him goodbye in the morning and disinfect the goddamn toilet seat before and after he uses it every time, he'll give Eddie a lot of shit, but fuck it, he'll do it. (That part sounds like a joke, but his face is weirdly sincere. There's always some hint of love on his face when he looks at Eddie, but now it's concentrated. It's all anyone can see.)

He will legitimately do _fucking anything_ if Eddie will marry him.

Eddie smirks. "I'm gonna hold you to that," he manages to get out through some really fucking embarrassing tears. If Richie wasn't literally on one knee in front of him, Eddie would be trying a lot harder to hide it. The Losers laugh, and Richie raises an eyebrow expectantly at him.

"Yeah."

Richie doesn't wait, doesn't even put the ring on Eddie or anything, he just moves in and kisses him so fucking hard - but at the same time, it feels innocent. There's nothing lustful about it, they're just so goddamn happy and they're totally going to make fun of this later but right now they don't give a shit.

Bottles pop behind them, and they hear Bill and Mike yelling as they run around all the other tables spraying champagne into the air and laughing.

Richie takes the ring out of the box and puts it in Eddie's palm, who then starts to put it on his own finger without either of them breaking away until Eddie drops the damn thing.

"Oh - come on, asshole," says Richie, fumbling to pick it up from under the chair. "This was fucking expensive."

They both stand up so Ben and Bev can squeeze the goddamn life out of them. Ben is the worst of the two right now, and he's also crying.

Audra scream-laughs as Bill comes back around to pour his remaining champagne directly onto her head.

"Woo!" Bill turns on his heel and pumps both fists in the air, still holding the bottle.

Richie leans toward the platform, grabs the microphone, and yells out a booming, "_Wwwww-e_ got 'im!"

It's still only around 10:30, so Eddie figures he has time for a drink before it's 2018.


	2. Chapter 2

It's New Year's Day 2018.

Richie hums awake after Eddie presses a firm kiss to his cheek. He opens his eyes; Eddie's face is still only inches from his. Richie lifts up his head and kisses him gently on the mouth. He tastes like mint and smells like shampoo.

"Morning," says Richie, reaching for his glasses on the nightstand.

"It's 12:30," says Eddie.

Richie puts his glasses on, sits up, and checks his phone.

"So it is."

"We gotta strip the bed," says Eddie, already pulling the pillowcases off. He looks freshly kempt, which leads Richie to suspect he's only just gotten up himself.

"You lost me at 'bed.'"

"What, the celebratory drunk sex wasn't enough for you?"

"You know what," says Richie as he stands up to pull off his own pillowcases and ball up the top sheet. "You're right, it was plenty. You really outdid yourself at midnight, too."

Eddie raises his arms defensively. "You're supposed to kiss at midnight!"

"Yeah, you're not supposed to pin your fiancé down on a pool table and shove your tongue down his throat!"

"You were into it."

"That's beside the point, perv."

"I'm the perv?" Eddie's eyes widen as he undoes the fitted sheet and throws it into a borrowed laundry basket on the floor. "You were just trying for a literal nooner."

"I was kidding, I thought that was obvious. But if you're up for it…" He pulls Eddie back onto the mattress by his arm and straddles him despite his half-hearted protests, then tilts his head as he leans in to kiss him. It's a bit challenging at first with Eddie laughing, but it calms down after a moment. Eddie pulls away anyway.

"Your breath smells like ass."

"Whose fault is that?" Richie says, then kisses him one more time.

"Go brush your teeth, dickwad." Eddie pushes him off and awkwardly maneuvers around him to get back off the bed.

"Fine," Richie groans and goes to the bathroom designated for them by Ben and Bev, shutting the door behind him.

Eddie picks the basket up off the floor and heads for the laundry room, passing the other Losers in the kitchen on the way. The Honorary Losers (namely Patricia and Audra - Bill's gonna get a ride with Mike later) each left this morning. Ben and Bev are sitting at the island, and Bill and Mike are at the table behind them looking pretty miserable.

"Hey," Bev says, chipper from the lack of hangover. Lucky her. "Richie up yet?"

"Yeah," says Eddie with a polite smile. "I'm just gonna throw the bedding in the wash."

Ben starts to get off his stool. "Oh, we can get that -"

Bev is already gently taking his arm to hold him back when Eddie says, "No, no, you guys put this whole thing together, you're hosting; I'll take care of this." He tilts his head toward the laundry basket.

"Really, it's no -"

"Honey," Bev says softly. "I think maybe there's a reason he wants to handle it himself."

Ben rolls his eyes. "Eddie, I can promise you we follow the washing instructions on the guest bedding."

Eddie stares blankly at him for a second, then turns to Bev as she tightens her lips to stifle a laugh. Mike snorts, and Bill just stares down at the table, reacting only with an arched eyebrow.

After a beat, Ben's eyes widen and he sits back down.

"Ben," Bill croaks, raising his head up. He crosses his arms and smirks. "Have you not had the talk?"

Ben turns his head in his direction. "Hey Bill?"

"Yeah?"

"Fuck you."

Bev and Mike laugh, and Eddie turns on his heel to go wash the goddamn sheets while the others are distracted. As he walks away he hears Ben continue his mock reprimand.

"In my own home. In _my own home_, Bill!"

Eddie sets the basket down in front of the washing machine and checks the tag on one of the sheets for washing instructions before throwing all of the contents into the machine and shutting the door. He adjusts the knob at the top to the right settings and measures out the detergent, presses start, and then it's dealt with. He stops in the nearest powder room to wash his hands, then goes back to the kitchen to rejoin everybody. By the time he gets there, Richie is fully dressed and cleaned, leaning on the island across from Bev and Ben, the latter of whom is standing again.

"No, new rule," Ben is saying when Eddie pulls up a stool between their hosts and Richie, who almost absentmindedly presses a kiss to the top of his head as he sits down. "You guys can't shit-talk me at my house, when I'm hosting you -"

It's met with loud protests from everyone else in the room, Bev included.

"Benjamin," Richie groans, dragging his hands down his face. "How else are we supposed to communicate with you?"

"Hey," says Ben, pointing accusingly at Richie. "You said last night you weren't allowed to shit-talk because it's my house!"

"I did not," says Richie, raising his voice and pointing right back. "I said I can't get mad at you, you just misunderstood 'cause you were drunk off your ass!"

"You just can't wrap your head around the idea of not ripping on someone for five seconds at a time," says Ben, and nods toward Eddie. "Eds, you know I'm right."

Eddie doesn't say anything, just raises his eyebrows and looks sideways at Richie, who's staring Ben down with his jaw agape.

Richie lowers his voice. "What did you just call him?"

"Oh-ho-ho," Bev, Mike, and Bill say slowly, almost in unison. Eddie crosses his arms and stares straight ahead while chuckling, and Ben throws his head back in a swell of regret.

"Ben," says Richie, pointing at him with folded hands. "I know what I said, but if you're coming on to my fiancé…"

The kitchen erupts in laughter, and Richie is having a hard time holding back his own.

"See, now shit-talk is all I have. I have to defend my stake here." He motions at Eddie. "But I can't challenge you physically because you could _one hundred percent_ kick my ass."

Before Ben can respond, Eddie takes Richie's hand and says, "Rich, relax, okay? Bev snatched him up first. I've accepted it. It's fine."

Richie drops his jaw again, but doesn't take his hand away. Bev snorts, Mike sputters, Bill gives an emphatic hand-clap, and Ben turns around with his hands in his hair, almost cackling.

"Now you're not getting any sex for like, a week," says Richie, pulling back his hand and raising his arms emphatically.

"Maybe not from you," Bev mutters. Richie shoots her a look.

"Beep beep, Beverly," he says, doing nothing to remove the satisfied grin from her face, nor the clearly amused one from his.


End file.
